BJUnity

When I was at Bob Jones University, I ended up in John Daulton‘s [ed. note: John Daulton is the Dean of Men at Bob Jones University] office trying my darndest not to get thrown out of school for being gay. I was *thiiiiis* close to getting my degree, and while I hate not being true to myself and who I am, I was quite impressed with my ability to get through four years there and turn out to be a well-adjusted person without too much emotional instability.

After chapel once a week, my society [ed. note: societies are BJU’s answer to the secular university’s sororities and fraternities, with one exception: membership in a society is mandatory for all students] had a prayer meeting in the Founder’s Memorial Amphitorium (FMA) for fifteen minutes, and most of the time I stayed for it. After one of them, I was on the main floor chatting with a friend from society and I had my arm around the back of his chair. As soon as I left, an usher named Alex approached me and said he was “concerned about me on a spiritual level because of some disturbing things he saw.” I said, “Who are you?” and he responded with “I’m an usher.” Now I don’t know if anyone else ever noticed this, but when I was in school, the ushers were some weird kind of elite group of boys. I’m not sure why, but that’s the way it was. Anyway, I said “I didn’t ask what you do. What’s your name?” and he reluctantly told me.

I remained calm, but I asked him pointedly what he was referring to and why he felt it was appropriate for him to say something to me. Apparently my having my arm around the chair next to me — a chair with a boy in it — was cause for alarm. He couldn’t really give me a good answer, and I politely told him that I hadn’t done anything wrong and it was none of his business who I had my arm around.
Two days later, my dorm phone rang and I was summoned to the Dean’s office.

So there I am, standing in my dorm room on the phone with Daulton’s male secretary (did that ever strike anyone as weird?) and he’s telling me that I have to report to the Dean’s office the next morning whether I had a class or not.

At this point, I was furious with this Alex person, who must have been positively quivering with joy when he reported me for such inappropriate conduct. What better way to secure your position in the popularity hierarchy at Bob Jones than to report someone to the dean under the guise of being “concerned for their spiritual well-being”? How could that be looked down upon? What a compassionate gesture! Such kindness! And from a perfect stranger no less.

My fury led to a certain boldness that I rarely exercised in college, but I felt the situation…warranted it, so I spoke up: “Can I ask what this is regarding?” and I noticed a certain hesitancy in the secretary’s response that told me he was not used to being questioned – even though I was perfectly polite and respectful when I asked. He wouldn’t give me any details, but rather told me what time to show up at the office and hung up.

I stood staring at the phone for a minute, contemplating the gravity of the situation and trying to figure out how on earth I was going to get out of this one. I forget what time of year it was – winter, I think – but my senior year at any rate. I’d already put in so much work. There was no way I was going to let this stupid usher ruin my chances of getting a degree so he could make himself look like some kind of spiritual hero to the Dean.

I couldn’t focus in my classes for the rest of the day. I skipped dinner, went back to my dorm while it was still light out, and got ready for bed. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach and my palms were sweaty. How would I make it through the night without driving myself crazy? I went to the medicine cabinet, pulled out a bottle of Nyquil cough syrup and downed half of it.
Then I got in bed and waited for morning.

The next morning, I got up and that feeling of trepidation was a million times worse. I put on my most conservative outfit: no plaid pants, mismatched tie, studded belt or checkered shoelaces (all of which were completely by the book, at the time, at least). I looked at myself in the mirror and it didn’t even look like me. I made sure I was clean shaven and my hair perfectly coiffed off my ears and collar. And I headed out.

When I got to the Dean’s office, they took me right away. Of course I didn’t have to wait. Daulton was nice –- pretty friendly given the situation. I was so nervous. I was even very careful about my speech because I sound “gay” when I talk. Do you know how hard that is to change? Good thing I have kind of a natural talent for acting. I sat there and listened while he told me that Alex came to him and was gravely concerned about my spiritual well-being. I wanted so badly to lash out, to tell him that this alleged concern was this guy’s attempt to make himself look better. I wanted to say so many things, to scream at him…but I just sat there and tried to control myself.

It did get to the point where he asked me if I was gay. He asked me if I ever had impure thoughts about men. He asked me if I ever did anything sexually with men. He asked me a lot of things and I lied about them all. I was in total defensive mode. I couldn’t lose my degree, I couldn’t lose everything I worked for, and I couldn’t disappoint my parents. I lied about who I was – who I am – to try to save myself in the moment.

And it worked. I have to say, from an actor’s perspective, it was one of my most brilliant performances. I hadn’t really done anything against any rules, so they couldn’t punish me for anything. It was like an episode of Law & Order where the detectives know someone is guilty but they just can’t prove it and the killer walks.

Well, I was feeling guilty about something, but it wasn’t being gay. I felt horrible that I hid who I was. Not just in that moment, but that it was becoming a pattern in my life that was destroying me from the inside. So the sensation I had was both one of triumph and yet disappointment – I had won by a nose, I had been right on the precipice of the thing that I feared the most…and I scraped past the authorities because they couldn’t prove anything.

They did send me to weekly counseling after that. With the dorm counselor, who, because of a scandal earlier that year wasn’t even on staff at the University. He was still a student. My peer. And he had no idea what I was going through; he had no idea who I was before then.

For my first session I showed up at 9 pm in a smartly tailored pink dress shirt. And I had to sit there and listen to him give me “practical ways to make sure people don’t think anything negative about you.”

For weeks, I was forced to keep a journal and show it to my counselor. I hated going to counseling. I hated being asked the same things over and over again – are you gay, have you ever had sex with a man – and I hated even more that I lied about everything.

It was one of the darkest times of my life. I withdrew from everyone. I didn’t want to talk about it with anyone. I just wanted to get out of there. Eventually, things got better. They told me I could stop going to counseling when they were convinced enough that I wasn’t gay.

But what about the guy who I was with when this whole thing started? What happened to him? I have to say, I felt terrible. I felt like I’d gotten him in trouble. They did the same thing to him – brought him into the Dean’s office and interrogated him. Asked if I ever made any advances on him. I was made out to be some kind of raging sexual predator. But you know what, he had my back the whole time. He didn’t throw me under the bus even though he probably knew I was gay. And for that, I’m grateful.

So what did I learn from this whole thing? I learned that once I was done with this whole Bob Jones thing, I could never hide myself again. I didn’t know quite how I was going to make that change, but I knew I had to.

And although I felt such loneliness while I was there, when I had no one to talk to about all of this, I found out later – long after I’d graduated and moved on –that I never was alone. We were everywhere – all across that campus. In the men’s dorms, in the women’s dorms. On the staff, in the high school – everywhere, silently going through our days in different situations but all of us alike in one way:

We were gay…but you can’t be gay at Bob Jones.

Postscript

I did graduate. I managed to fly just far enough under the radar to get my degree in 2008. But a lot has changed since then, and although I did have some really fun times at school, there were too many dark days that I’m glad are gone now. I finally found who I am and I’m happy with the guy I found.

Now, I live in Philadelphia and sing with a gay chorus. I volunteer every month with a nonprofit foundation that supports those infected with HIV and affected by AIDS. And I’m a drag queen who performs in cabarets and makes appearances for charities. My life has become so rich and full of wonderful people and things that really matter.

People ask me all the time if I regret going to Bob Jones University – and, as strange as it may sound, I really don’t. It was one stop on my journey, and it helped mold me into the person I am today. I came out on the other side of my time there a changed person – maybe not changed the way I was “supposed” to be, but I understood myself so much better, saw things so much more clearly. And that – that clarity, that understanding – has made all the difference.